The ledge
by Shockey13
Summary: Sequel to The Edge. 100 percent Quinn's pov and 100 percent neccesary to read The Edge first.


Today was the day he was going to bring her home.

'She's fucking gone', is all he can hear, but he can hardly feel it yet. The agony in Saul's voice transpires before he could even figure out what was going on. Quinn's not even sure he would have heard him if Saul hadn't said it over and over and over. Just a man crying his guts out on the other line he thought at first. What the fuck was he talking about? He hadn't even process that she left to begin with.

Where is it, the bang or the anger? How come he's not crying too? Blind and not there at all, he just realizes that he's heedlessly speeding 100 mph over the river, wondering if he might be dead already too.

For a second he thinks about what a slight turn of the wheel could do. He could drown with the cannoli that's resting on the passengers seat. It's now that he realizes that Saul is still on the other line, but his phone is wedged between the seats. This reality that cannot be fathoms. It's a sick joke.

Instead, he slams on the brakes as hard as he can. He can swear that his heart is beating out of his chest. It just hurts so bad.

The swift movements and harsh cries remind him that Franny's in the car. His first thought is how to get rid of her, to get rid of that awful sound.

He grabs the phone, but Saul's disconnected. Two minutes into his u-turn, the violent vibrations of his phone return and it's Maggie. He refuses to answer because he doesn't want to hear it again. It can't be true. He doesn't want to hear what he still doesn't believe. Drop off Franny, then go get Carrie. He repeats the words in his mind again and again

Teeth clenched and bugged eyed, his hands grip the wheel with excessive force. It seems silent even with the wailing child in the backseat, like white noise. If someone hit him he wouldn't even know it.

* * *

He knocks on the door - her child in his arms. Maggie eyes are swelling as red as the roses in his passengers seat and her sobs increase with the sight of Franny. He should say something, anything at all. He just stares at her callously offering her no condolences. His paralysis is cruel and selfish, but he's just too numb to speak. It only makes him to walk away and not look back.

The emptiness begins to fill him to the point of agony, the void. He still hasn't snapped, still bending. The darkness looms hovering over the flicker light of what's left, ready to fade. Something is happening, something he doesn't want to happen. Of course he's not okay.

He lurches through the motel doors, holding himself against the counter after placing her gifts there. A slow stoke brews as he studies the items. His dragon-like huffs become louder, enough for even him to fear. Peaking out of he corner of his eye, the application for his new apartment is now in plain view and he loses it! Fuse blown.

Her gifts are the first to be thrown violently onto the floor. The roses come apart sprinkling hundreds of petals across the floor. He flings the stupid fucking cannoli with it, smearing onto everything he hits. Anything else in the travel path become a victim of his despair as he annihilates the surfaces until they're barren.

Heavy grunting and hollering do nothing to justify the animosity. The violent trembling inside was more like it. Release is desperate. He can't stop it. The tears flow like waterfalls and he falls to his knees, succumbing at last.

Everything they worked for is over, gone. None of it matters anymore. It never did without her to begin with. He's so fucking mad at her.

"Oh Carrie, why!?" He cries to himself.

"I just... don't... understand," he stutters in between sobs.

Suddenly the world is spinning and he lays there like a sandbag. He'd look lifeless with the exclusion of his lungs moving up and down, letting himself know the he's still and mortal. Occasional deep breaths occur to make up for the shallow ones. Never has he been so adrift, swindled and cheated like never before.

* * *

His comatose state abides after an hour and he just wants to forget. Submerge himself with liquor, then sink into the bed - the only plausible comfort in mind. He lines up everything has on the night stand as he sits on the bed deciding which one to drink first. It's just about the only decision he can make right now.

He thinks about her as the harsh liquor courses through him; her hair, her skin, her smile. It all still lingers in every fiber. He can't even think of a time on earth that he spent without her. He just wants to murder the murder fucker who did this too her. Stab him to death slowly, making him suffer.

Eventually the booze knock him out - with him stumbling every few hours to use the bathroom - then he reloads. 'This is working', he convinces himself.

Soon enough, it's easier to just piss in the empty bottles. It's been days, but he would never know, and it occurs to him that this will never go away.

* * *

He goes out after a few days - only for a restock. The stench is so bad that the clerk almost considers not selling it to him. Quinn looks like a legitimate bum.

The locals paper stands out at him. He knows it's in there. No way could he go - he couldn't! It doesn't hurt to collect it with his bag of sorrows.

Saul had said how it happened, he remembers that now. It's not as if he'd be able to actually see her again. It'd just be another wooden box.

* * *

It's like he's summoned by it. He can't not see what was written. Seeing it written down though will make it all real.

Words like suddenly and unexpectedly are printed. Not in his mind. She'd planned this all and left him all alone. Did she even consider him? 'Likely not', he thinks.

He keeps his lips pressed to the bottle as if it were attached to him. Steady sips get him through each line. He can tell Maggie penned it. The very end states that she leaves behind her daughter.

This gets him thinking what he would leave behind. A fucking sniper rifle and a quilt. Pathetic. Just another reason to get drunk all over again.

* * *

The shower engulfs him with each droplet cleansing each and every pore. It's not so bad.

He combs his hair forgetting how much he actually had. A clean shave comes immediately after. The black suit he has delivered lies on the bed waiting for him, purple tie and all. It was the most expensive one in the book. All for her. He looks in the mirror as he's ready - so ready for this. There's no other way.

The mellow jazz begins playing from one of his only possessions. As the vinyl spins he takes a seat and lights up a cigar and smokes it until it's gone. She's the only thing clouding his mind.

He loads the cylinder with six bullets to be sure that no mistakes are made. The hammer clinks down and he presses the barrel to his skull, digging it in almost. His hand trembles as it grazes the trigger, ready to pull at any second. No time to not be Trigger happy - always was. His life is already over anyways.

For some reason he hasn't pulled it yet, his finger won't move. He can only feel his himself shaking and his lungs doing more work than they should. What could there possibly be left to think about?

It's because he's not the only one who willing be suffering. It's selfish, but that it was he had thought. There's an orphan out there who has no one to call mom or dad. He'd grown so attached to her and he just dumped her off like a goodwill box.

It's something - she's something to live for. Franny's not his and never will be, but if he can't live for himself, he'll live for her. Maybe this was suppose to be all along. Maybe Carrie left him a gift? He'll never know.

He scalp is further violated when he brutally hits himself in the head. Provoking the revolver just might do the job for him. So much air is lost that he can't even breathe.

Then relent, it falls to the ground and and fires at the wall. Forgive, but never forget. He'll let that little girl know that her mother loved her. Frequent or a little less, he'll be in her life.

He will go to that funeral. He will stand next to Maggie and take Franny from her grieving arms. And mostly, he knows he'll cry his heart out. It's exactly what he needs.


End file.
